


A Letter to My 'Once' Love

by dontletyourheartdistractyou



Category: The Derp Crew (Youtube RPF)
Genre: Cross-Posted on Wattpad, I really like to fuck up your life for some reason, Letters, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Poor Chilled, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4735064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontletyourheartdistractyou/pseuds/dontletyourheartdistractyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...I see everything, you know. </p><p>(In which Chilled writes a letter to the boy he once loved about how he fell and got back up again with the help of a good friend.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Letter to My 'Once' Love

**Author's Note:**

> Wattpad Note: I started writing this story and just couldn't stop. I've been working on it for about a week, maybe two, and I'm not sure whether or not I like the end result. It's based on the fact that I love, love, love RoyalChaos, but I also love TehChaos (almost equally, actually) and I wanted to write a more unpopular pairing.
> 
> AO3 Note: This fic is sort of a redo of an earlier one of mine as it had a very similar storyline just without the TehChaos and Chilled ended up either committing suicide or getting help from his other friends.

Dear Steven,

 

...I see everything, you know. 

 

You act like nothing is wrong, smiling through everything, but I can see the way your eyes flitter to me when you kiss her. The little glances tell me everything. You look at her and I can see barely any emotion in your eyes. But when you look at me? The green sparkles, and they glint like the night stars. They shine with love that I've only seen once before, and you stare and stare and stare, and then glance back at the girl you are leading along. You're lucky that she isn't as observant as me.

 

There is other stuff too: the pain that pulls at your face, the 'comforting' gestures towards me, a hand a little too far up or the hug that puts you a bit too close, the fact that your lips turn down when you receive affection from her, but the way the corners lift when I say one word. But I feel like your eyes are more revealing than the rest, because you can hide agony and you can repress actions, but it's difficult to fake the look of pure love that resides in anyone's eyes.

 

Sometimes, when you couldn't be bothered to pay attention, I imagined how it would feel to be yours. I rested a hand on your leg, or brushed softly against your arm, or pressed myself against you in a embrace that lasted longer than it should have. But those day are long gone, and I laugh to the thought that your now actions mirrored my past movements, and that we were both lovesick for each other when we thought someone wouldn't see. How wrong we both were.

 

I see what you feel for me, and someone else saw what I felt for you.

 

I'm sorry, Steven, but John got there first.

 

-

 

I fell in love with you completely when we met face to face for the first time.

 

Not to say that I didn't feel something before that. Oh, no, I was infatuated for a long time. My affection was just for a voice, but I found so many things to like in just that. The way you laughed, like the world was ending and all you had was a few days to enjoy. Full of life and happiness, with your slight chuckles sending shivers down my spine.

 

Your jokes made me giggle more than I had in years, each word releasing a laugh from my lips. The way you talked, like you just couldn't help but get excited about the little things. You treated me like I actually mattered, something only few had, and it made me happy. Ecstatic, really.

 

And then, I saw your emerald eyes, that cheeky smile, those curls. And I fell.

 

I fell hard.

 

-

 

I've always been good at hiding things.

 

I find it easy to trick others. It's in my blood, you could say. So, when it came to my feelings for you, I just pretended they didn't exist. 

 

It was easy at first. Limit our interactions. Refrain from touching you for longer than a few seconds. Giggle only when necessary, and never for too long. Don't stare. Just hide it. I could do it, I knew I could. So I kept on pushing.

 

But I kept on falling. Soon, every word was something precious, no matter how silly, no matter how outrageous. Every glance we shared made me instantly blush. A little touch would make my skin erupt in flames. And it got so hard.

 

All I wanted to do was throw myself into your arms - even if that would probably crush you under my weight - and scream to the world that I loved you. Every time we met, my lips would attempt to let the words escape, but I kept them shut. I forced myself to not talk as much just so my secret would never be revealed. No one really questioned my new found silence. They just took it as me having a bad day.

 

But, oh God, I was having way more than a bad day.

 

-

 

I'm not sure when the self-loathing started to appear in my mind.

 

I always had this idea that I was never good for anyone. Too tall, too broad, too loud, too cheerful, too mischievous. Everything about me was just more, and I couldn't help but notice how different everyone else was compared to me. But I hid it behind fabricated confidence, and I just kept on grinning whenever insults were thrown my way. And then you showed up.

 

In my eyes, you were perfect. Beautiful. Brilliant. Amazing. And far out of my league. You were - in my head, at least - so much funnier, so much brighter, so much better. For me, you set a standard of what was good and what was not. And in my heart, I thought anything lesser than you was horrific. And I shoved myself right down there, at the bottom.

 

I have no idea why. According to John, I'm perfect. I'm the one who wasn't deserved, not you. But, still, I got the idea that I just wasn't what you wanted. My mind told me that I was not attractive to you, I was not funny to you, I was not good to you. I was the embodiment of what you found hideous. 

 

And I listened.

 

-

 

It was around that time the cutting started.

 

I... I don't know how to explain why I started. Maybe the pain helped distract me as my life spiralled out of control. Maybe it was my own form of personal punishment for being someone you would never want. I'm not sure. All I know is that it became a habit.

 

I only slid the knife where I knew that no one would see - around my thighs, my chest, my ankles - but I wanted to all over me. I wanted to make blood run wherever I could, but I didn't, because I knew multiple scars in sight would worry someone and, at the time, I wanted no one to know of my pain.

 

Who knew what anyone would say? Would they hate, call me that word, cut all contact? Or would they accept me, and try to help me? My mind said the former, even though the latter was more likely. My mind forgot about Minx in these moments; all I could imagine was the rejection I could have got from my friends, from you, and I knew I couldn't say anything.

 

So, I did everything I could to hide the thin lines. I wore more layers than necessary; an extra shirt, longer pants. I put concealer over them so they were less noticeable from afar. I made sure my sleeves never rolled up or my socks never fell slightly. I just pretended like they didn't exist.

 

But, at some point, I knew I was going to fuck up.

 

-

 

It took years, but I did, one day, screw up.

 

We were planning to meet up, all of us, in New York. Since John and I lived in the same area, we decided it would be a good idea to meet a few days before you guys arrived, so we could have some time for just us. But, then, it got cancelled. John called you, informed you that I was ill, and proceeded to stop our meeting. The fans were pissed off, and you were obviously not the happiest at that moment, since he never explained what 'ill' meant. And, I guess, now you'll know.

 

I don't remember much of that day, honestly. All that comes to mind is blood soaking through my shirt, John screaming at me, everything going blurry and... just darkness. I woke up to covers draped over me, the sun shining through the open window, a feeling of previous warmth, like someone had recently laid in the empty side of the bed, bandages wrapped over my chest, and the smell of breakfast coming from the kitchen.

 

And, after tumbling through my hallway, I found John, leaning calmly on the counter like nothing was wrong. But I knew. His hands were curled into fists, his shoulders stiff and rigid, his eyes ablaze with fire and rage and disappointment and pity. He was a mess of emotions at this point, but I just responded with a blank look.

 

"What's for breakfast?" I asked, with a yawn, and watched as his mouth opened and all his anger flew free. He yelled, and yelled, and yelled, and I'm pretty sure he woke up the neighbours with his shouts, but he didn't seem care. He panted afterwards, and looked up at me as I just continued on with my day, brushing past him to dish out the eggs. I could see everything in those eyes, how utterly furious the whole situation made him and how shocked he was that I just acted like we were having a friendly chat and the day before he hadn't found me bleeding out.

 

I sat there and ate, eyes trained on the limp form of my friend, whose eyes were wide and mouth slack. It took a few minutes of silence but he finally spoke up.

 

"... I'm going to help you, Anthony. No matter what."

 

And that's were John and I's story begins.

 

-

 

He knew from the start what was wrong with me.

 

I wasn't sure how until he told me he had came into my room one night to hear one name repeated over and over again in my sleep as I shifted restlessly.

 

"Steven."

 

He, despite how much we joked about his intelligence, was able to quickly put the pieces together and work out what was wrong with me. Why I cried myself to sleep every night, why I pressed those blades against my skin, why I found it so hard to just live. You.

 

I think you noticed the icy glares he used to send you. You looked confused as hell whenever he forced out a insult, your eyes big. You had no idea what was going on. That didn't make John like you anymore.

 

I told him it wasn't your fault repeatedly, but he didn't seem to care. You were the one I was sobbing my heart out over. All John could see was the blood dripping from my chest, not the poor man who had no idea what he was doing to me.

 

John could only see the horror.

 

-

 

At some point, I started to feel better.

 

The cuts littering my chest starting to appear less frequently, blood flowing less. Sleep took me over easier, the dark under my eyes less bold. Actual laughs had begun to escape my lips, a genuine smile on my lips and a glint in my eyes. And it's all because of John.

 

He was a guiding hand on my shoulder, pushing me in the right direction, moving me into the right place. He took away my razor, threw it away with a simple flick of his hand, and told me I wouldn't need it anymore. I didn't believe him at first, I snuck one after the other into the house, but he always found it, and he always got rid of it.

 

He forced me out of my apartment into the fresh air, pushing me, never too gently, into the outside world. He took me to all the Italian food places he could find, ticking them off one by one. He led me around the park, sneaking off, his hand in mine, to find secret corners that I had never seen. He took me out shopping, making me try on every piece of clothing he could find, and his enthusiasm made me chuckle, for once.

 

John tried his best to make me laugh with actual joy, watching me squeal with delight as he tickled my sides, a small smile on his face. He tried his best to make me scared, dragging me on to the couch to watch horrors, rubbing a soothing hand over my back as I clutched on to his arm. He tried his best to make me cry, not with sadness, but with happiness, taking me to special places, making me meet special people, telling me everything about me that he found perfect. And best of all? He tried to make me feel human.

 

And it worked.

 

-

 

I was slowly, but surely, falling out of love with you.

 

I saw the blinding smiles on your face, but they didn't make me awestruck anymore. All they were were grins from my best friend, and the man who, unintentionally, made me feel like the most worthless person on the planet. I felt more.... uninterested, when I saw the turning of your lips. No longer was the worship of you. All that was left that the relief that you were happy.

 

I wanted you happy, I always did, but I was hit with, at one point, the sudden realisation that I didn't want to be happy with you. After all these years, pining over Steven fucking Viking, and now, I'm over it, in what felt like an instant. I didn't get it.

 

But I understood, later, that I had been getting over you for a while. It had been four years since I fell in love with you, a year since John found out, and, ever since that fateful day, I had began to fall out of love. Your face haunted my dreams less and less, but it was gradual and almost unnoticeable. Your voice no longer made me shiver, but I blamed it on wearing more layers. And you, always so beautiful... I just didn't see it anymore. But I didn't notice, because all that my time was taken up with was John.

 

John, John, John. That's who I wanted to think about. John cared for me more than anyone had. He made me feel special, he made me feel safe, and he made me feel wanted. Others of course had, but Galm and Tom were wrapped up in each other, and Adam and Max had more problems to work out between themselves. The rest of my friends obviously held me in their affections. But no one had made me feel like that before.

 

And I don't think anyone else will.

 

-

 

And, one day, it clicked.

 

If you've been paying close attention, my dear Steven, I think you have already realised the outcome of my love life. I'll give you a couple of seconds to guess... 1... 2... 3.... 4..... 5....

 

I'm not going to spell it out for you, since I think you already know. I've mentioned his name more than a dozen times now, and one of my first statements told you outright who he was. I've rambled on about him and how he makes me feel and how he means the world to me. And, I'm sorry Steven, but you just aren't him.

 

I think I'll never get over you; not fully, anyways. I know some part of me, buried deep down inside, will always, no matter what, be in love with you. But I love him now, probably on the same level as the adoration I had for you, but this time, it's made me happy. I cry, no longer tears of sorrow, but tears of joy. And I certainly do not cry for you. I may wonder about what could have been, if I had been brave enough to confess, or if you had fallen in love a bit faster, but those are all just what if's. What matters is now.

 

None of this is your fault, Steven. I hope you know that. Everything listed here has nothing to do with you, all it has to do with is me, and my silly mind. Please, don't blame yourself for what I did.

 

Another request, that girl, the pretty one who won't take her eyes off you, just don't lead her on. If you don't feel anything for her, please, let her go. She doesn't deserve this, loving a man who can never love her back, loving a man caught up over someone unreachable.

 

.... Now that I've cleared my head, I feel lighter. Brighter. And more optimistic. And maybe it's just wishful thinking, but I feel like we could start over from scratch. Forget the past and move on. That'll be difficult, especially for you, after reading the details in this letter, but I hope we can, someday, work things out between us.

 

I really am sorry, Steven.

 

Love, 

Anthony

 

(PS: It's John here. Anthony said I could leave a small message if I wanted, seeing as I got so entwined with his story. And, I just wanted to say, no matter how much he denies it. He still loves you, Steven. He loves me as well, but I can't deny the longing gazes in your direction. There small and quick and I doubt he notices what he's doing, but they are still there. I just thought you ought to know that maybe things could change between you. But, you should know, I won't give him up easily. And he won't give me up either. Good luck.)


End file.
